


City Kids

by Lee_Mix



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-17 03:08:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5851696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lee_Mix/pseuds/Lee_Mix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Losing your parents as a kid is never easy. Luck has never seemed to be on Marinette's side, aside from hurting those she cares about, and keeping her alive. Moving to Paris, however, may just provide her with the tools she needs in order to not only save Paris under the guise of "Ladybug", but also allow her the chance to move on. </p><p>Paris is the city of love, as they say. Perhaps, in more ways than one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	City Kids

Winter had begun to paint its colours over Paris with little care of the consequences to those who breathed in the chill. It’s cold personality seeped away the remaining hours of Autumn’s welcoming warmth within the seconds. Streets were either a canvas of white, or hidden with dangers none were able to detect until they slipped on the ice beneath their feet. 

Marinette shivered, tugging her collar upward to shield her neck from the biting breeze, and continued to walk down the darkening streets with a scowl on her face. 

She hated Winters. She hated the dark. But most of all, she  _ hated  _ Paris.

So many people all over the world had called it the “City of Love”. To her, that was nothing more than a stereotype. There was nothing “loving” about a city--about a  _ community, _ where the streets had no names that she recognized as her home. 

Nothing was home to her anymore.

She rolled her eyes, and folded her arms as she walked around the bend. She passed an array of blacked-out shops, of people closing up after hours without sparing a second thought to her. In a city of love, she couldn’t help but feel hollow with all the eyes that  _ didn’t  _ look her way.

It was when she passed an alleyway by, that she found herself skidding to a halt.

_ “It’s people like you that need to stay away from normal people. Don’t you know how disgusting you are?” _

Marinette peeked around the corner. Three teenagers--one female, two male--crowded around another, smaller girl, backing her against the wall. Head-to-toe in pink, and a white knapsack dropped against the snowy ground, she looked little more than her age.

Marinette’s eyes widened as she saw the smaller girl’s face. 

_ Rose? _

She hadn’t picked up on many people in her new school, but she couldn’t forget the young underclassman who had approached her on her first day of school, and insisted on giving a detailed (albeit brightly coloured) map of every “fun” facility at the school. If there was one kind soul in Paris that didn’t deserve this, it was Rose.

_ “I… I didn’t…” _

_ “And it’s Juleka you like, of all people?”  _ The girl laughed, holding Rose’s shoulder so tightly that she yelped in pain. _ “Come on, Rose! If you’re going to fuck a girl, at least chose one that looks like a normal girl.” _

_ “I-I never said I wanted to! Please, I-I need to get home, my mother is expecting me back for dinner, and I-I have a little sister that I need to read a bedtime story too, and she get’s so grumpy if I don’t do all the little voices, and--” _

_ “You’re not going  _ **anywhere** **_,_ ** _ bitch.” _

Marinette’s blood became as cold as the snow. With no time wasted, she slowly walked into view of the perpetrators and their cowering prey, fists clenched by her side.

“Leave. Her.  _ Alone. _ ”

Three heads turned. One of them laughed. “What do you want, bitch? You want to get in on the action, too?” He turned to look at Rose. “You pick up another one, too? Or was this a mail-order?”

She tried to ignore her fists as they trembled. It wasn’t the first time she had heard that. “Mail-order”. It felt like sandpaper in her mouth everytime she said it.

“You’re going to leave her alone  _ right now,  _ and go home.” Marinette ordered, as the three made their way away from Rose, and toward her. “And you’re going to leave her alone in school, too. Are we clear?”

“I think  _ you  _ need to clear off, you little bitch.” From the corner of her eye, she could see the glinting of a knife reflecting the little moonlight that remained. “You shouldn’t get involved with what doesn’t concern you.”

Marinette paused. Around her, the winter wind began to howl. She stared at the cowering Rose, and the cowards that wanted to attack her.

And slowly, she smiled. Her head lifted, and the blue in her eyes magnified.

“ _ I'm feeling lucky tonight. Bring it on. _ ”

* * *

**"Luck is a matter of perspective."**

* * *

 

It wasn’t hard to see the glances the officer gave her from the side-view mirror. Looking at her like she was some sort of defect.

He had been on patrol in the area, and by her lucky family graces (or not. It was all a matter of perspective at this point), had stumbled across the entire ordeal before something other than her cheek had gotten sliced. They had dropped Rose off at her home first. She had been silent for the entire trip back, except for the muttered “thank you” that she had managed to give Marinette.

They had gotten her patched up, and informed her grandmother. Now it was just the agonising drive back that put her between freedom, and the incoming lecture.

“I just don’t get it.” His words were worn-down from so many other voices repeating the exact same thing. “You’ve got a family that wants to take you in. A place to call home that so many other kids can only dream about. Even now, all your Grandmother wants is you safe and sound. She’s not even angry with you for the fight. Why are you running away from something like that?”

He turned his head as they reach a red light, but all Marinette gave him was a shrug. A part of her wanted to speak, but her head weighed down too much on being able to find the words.

With a roll of his eyes, his attention returned to the road. But she could see one question still remained;

“You don’t even know these streets, kid. And to get involved in a fight with  _ those  _ kids, of all people. What were you doing out there with barely any money to your name? What even made you think you could survive on your own?”

Honestly, even she wasn’t sure. The streets weren’t  _ her  _ streets. They were the cobblestone markers of her life being pulled apart at the seams. The language people spoke weren’t  _ her  _ words, but they were words she would have to get used to. Nobody had offered an alternative choice.

“Not talking again, I see.” He chuckled. “You know, I’ve got a daughter around your age. Now, she’s a little bit of a pushover. I don’t like the company she keeps sometimes, but I know that she wouldn’t go running off into the streets like you.” He looked back over at her. “She’s good at Science, actually. Came first place in one of the competitions last year.”

“...”

“Maybe the two of you would get along.”

There was a question in the rhetoric, and a small part of her didn’t want to dash his hopes. But all she did was shrug her shoulders, and he made no further attempt at light conversation.

The car pulled around a bend, and the bakery came into view. Her Papa had said it was the place he had grown up. That the room she had been put in was once  _ his  _ room, only now decked-out in pink. With red-bricks and white arches, it looked like it had been pulled straight out of an old storybook and dirtied by urban life.

“Alright, kid.” The officer drew her focus away from the building, as he held open the door for her. His voice sounded tired. “No more running away, alright? You might find yourself in a worse fix than last time.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” 

He seemed surprised when she finally spoke, though only ducked his head as he sighed. “Kid, listen. You  _ need _ to take this more seriously. If I hadn’t have been on duty when you were near those kids, you could have been killed. One of them had a  _ knife. _ ”

“...I know.”

He paused, pursing his lips. He then moved aside without another word, and she climbed out of the car, gripping her shoulder bag with such intensity her knuckles turned pale and began to ache.

She walked toward the glow in the doorway, feet dragging a little with each step.

The glow in the doorway disappeared as soon as she reached the top step, replaced with the figure of an old woman. She looked down at her with an expression of concern mixed with boredom. 

“Marinette,” she said, in a tone of voice Marinette would never be able to forget. “You’ve made us all worry about you again.” She lifted her head to regard the officer. “Thank you for bringing my granddaughter home again, sir. Hopefully this will be the last time we will have to meet this way.”

Marinette looked over her shoulder. The officer’s face had grown red from the cold. “It… was nothing, M’am. Take good care of her.”

“I will try.”

It didn’t take long for Marinette to dump her shoes back in the hallway, ignoring her grandmother’s protestations as she slumped into one of the arm chairs and remaining ignorant of her presence.

It was just going to be another retreading of events. Her grandmother would waltz into the middle of the room, cigarette in one hand and empty words from her mouth would mix with the ash. Just another lecture on “how disappointed” she was, or the fact that she still “had so much potential” and she was “wasting it running about the streets like a little mouse”.

Sure enough, by the time she opened her eyes and stopped playing with the strings on her hoodie, she was poised right by the fireplace, glancing over at the window. 

_ That damn officer must have told her everything. _

“This is the fourth time this  _ month  _ you’ve been escorted home by an officer, Marinette.” The smoke from her cigarette clouded her face. “And now, I hear that you may have potentially been involved with a fight--where one of the perpetrators had a  _ knife?  _ What were you thinking?”

“...Seemed like a good way to waste time.” Marinette rolled her eyes. 

“Waste time--?” Her grandmother’s voice hitched. “ _ Waste time?  _ Marinette, they could have seriously hurt you. Or worse, they could have  _ killed  _ you! Why would you even put yourself in that sort of situation?”

She shrugged. It wasn’t like she was about to spill everything. “Got bored.”

“What is it with your complete and utter disregard for everything around you?” And here came the lectures. “You’re going about streets you don’t even  _ know,  _ loitering around corners. You don’t steal anything, you don’t damage anything--but you’re drifting around looking for people to cause you trouble! I don’t  _ understand  _ you, Marinette. You don’t talk for anything except how “bored” you are.”

“Comes hand-in-hand with my generation, you know.” The amusement had began crawling on her back as she prepared her next quip. “We’re all cynical, technology-obsessed naysayers with nothing to do but complain and cause trouble for the older folk. Haven’t you been paying attention to the news, Grand-maman?”

She waited for the oncoming lecture. Only, it never came.

Marinette didn’t expect to see her grandmother’s slouching figure barely holding herself up when she turned her head, having dropped her cigar into the ashtray and using her hand to cover her mouth. 

She didn’t expect to see her grandmother with  _ tears  _ in her eyes, either.

“I do not understand you at all, Marinette. Do you truly hate me that much?” 

She couldn’t help but wince at that. “I…”

“I do not know what else to do, child. I have tried  _ everything  _ I can think of to help you.” She ran a hand through her hair. “I understand I am an unfamiliar presence in your life, and you do not trust me as you would your father. But I loved him just as much, you know. I only want to do what is best for you.”

“ _...sure you did.” _

Her Grandmother blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

Something in Marinette snapped. Her head felt like a storm, and she was growing frustrated from not seeing anything past the rain in her eyes. 

She stood up with a start. “You didn’t care about him at all! He called and called this house, over and over again, and all you ever did was ignore him!” Her voice became bitter. She snarled, growled, and clenched her fists tightly. “I don’t want to be in a house where a mother ignored her own son for over  _ ten years!” _

Her Grandmother looked taken aback, but Marinette wasn’t finished. “I don’t want to be here with you! You made him look so sad every time he tried to call!”

“Marinette,” she tried to approach, but Marinette flinched away violently. Her hand withdrew back to her side, and she sighed. “There are… reasons why your father and I did not talk for so long. But don’t you  _ dare  _ say I didn’t care for him.”

Her skin began to grow hot with the fire creeping up onto her face. Marinette felt her shoulders start to tremble. “What could drive a mother away from her son? ”

“Stupid reasons.” Marinette watched her as she sat on the sofa. “Stupid reasons that don’t matter anymore.”

Her anger collapsed in the silence, as she watched the older woman try to piece together some form of composure. Her fists unclenched themselves, and her arms hung loosely by her side like nooses caught in the wind.

“You’ve lectured me.” Her Grandmother chuckled a little. “And you reminded me so much of my son. But let me ask you a question. Is that fair?”

“...Alright.”

She could already see the mental checklist. “You never steal anything from anywhere. You never start a fight with anyone. And, from what the reports have told me, you’ve technically never committed a crime.” The ember light from another cigarette made a dusty haze appear around her face again, yet Marinette could see where her eyes were this time. “Why were you with those people tonight, Marinette?”

She stuck her pockets, and scuffed the sole of her shoe against the cream carpet. “I don’t know them.”

“Really?”

“I’ve seen them around campus, sometimes. Mostly with other kids that do similar stuff.” Marinette shrugged, and quietened her voice. “But I don’t like them.”

“Why not?”

Marinette closed her eyes. “Because they hurt people.”

She heard her Grandmother pause. “Hurt people? How?”

“They…” It was easier to coax the words out a little. “I’ve heard stories about them. They follow people around when they go home. Say names about them that hurt. I heard one of the people they hurt tried to throw themselves into a river. It didn’t work, but…”

She heard a sigh of understanding. “You tried to get them to stop?”

“Sort of.”

“How?”

Marinette gulped down the hesitation. She didn’t want to be honest. Her lungs and head were screaming at her to shut down again. But there was a tiny, nagging voice somewhere in there--she thought it might have been in her feet, or her hands, or wherever was in her that still wanted more than just to run away from everything that reminded her of home--that was telling her to just get it over and done with.

“...There was one kid. Rose, I think. She’s really shy, but couldn’t hurt a fly. She… she loves to stick bits of coloured paper to walls to brighten them up. She’s the only one so far that’s been nice to me, too. You know,  _ actual  _ nice. Not the sort of nice people do to get through the day.” Marinette tugged at one of her loose pigtails. “I was walking down one of the streets tonight, and they had her… against the wall. They started saying things about how…”

“About?”

Marinette’s shoulders slumped. “She likes a girl. Juleka, I think. They were being horrible to her for it.”

“So you confronted them.”

“I wanted her to get out of there, but I didn’t want them to think what they were doing was okay.” The memory of the confrontation left the cut on her cheek burning, and the grazes on her knuckles stinging. “Then they all… just started throwing punches. One of them drew that knife on me… that’s when that officer showed up.”

“Marinette, you could have been  _ killed. _ ”

She simply shrugged.

“This isn’t the first time you’ve stepped in an incident like this, is it?”

“Are you saying I should have left her alone?”

“Of course not. You were brave to stand up for her, and for that, I am proud of you. For that is worth, anyway.” She stabbed the butt of the cigarette into the tray, and gently put a hand on her shoulder. “But it seems like you’re seeking out all these incidents on purpose. You are not a martyr, Marinette. There are people trained to seek out things like this and resolve them. You are not one of them.”

Marinette hung her head, not saying another word.

She heard her Grandmother’s tongue click against her teeth, before taking her hand off of her shoulder.

“Tell you what.” 

She lifted her head, just a little curious.

“We have a lot of old things in the attic. A lot of it belonged to your father. Some things are my own. Others are just trinkets I picked up on my travels.” 

“...So?”

“You say you’re bored?” Marinette barely nodded back, and became surprised at the small smile on her Grandmother’s face. A daring, challenging look that she had never seen before. Everything had always been poised restraint with her. But not now. “Look around in there. Find something that captures your interest.”

She couldn’t bite her tongue in time when she responded with a sarcastic, “why should I?”

“I’m not saying you should, my dear. But something tells me you will anyway.”

Marinette shrugged again. “I’m not making any promises.”

Yet, as she went to sleep that night, the thoughts in her head would not desist. Not even when she looked out of her window. Not when she gazed down at the small streetlights that had once served as her beckoning call away from the bakery. Not at the street cats that had served as her guides through the alleyways.  

_ Perhaps she was right after all… _

* * *

 

**"What people might think is unlucky to them, might mean the world to others..."**

* * *

 

Three days had passed her by faster than she had thought, before Marinette found herself facing the entrance to the attic.

She had tried to resist. Truly, she had. But every single time she passed by the small opening in the ceiling, the tiny crack where the wind whistled it’s tempting whispers at her, until she could no longer ignore it. A part of her had inevitably groaned in frustration. Yet… another part of her had her leaping for excitement. Honestly, emotions were  _ not  _ in her favour right now. 

Nobody was home. Her Grandmother had gone out to get groceries. All she had to do was go in, take a quick look, and pretend she had never given in.

“Alright.” She murmured. “Let’s see what all the fuss is about.”

Marinette unlocked the attic door, and climbed up the tiny ladder, meeting with the inky blackness. Rummaging around in her pocket, she pulled out her phone, before using the dim light to look around.

From what she could see, everything had been stacked into old boxes. Some labelled “old house”, others “Tom” (Marinette felt her heart clench at the latter). Cobwebs decorated the rafters, and the sunlight barely poked through the scarce holes in the ceiling. An old vanity and writing desk were at the opposite end of the attic, floored by a dusty red and black-spotted throw-rug. 

A chill ran up her spine. “If this is meant to be a horror story, I’m certainly in the right environment for it…” 

Marinette paused, before gripping the end of one of her pigtails. “Dammit, you don’t  _ say  _ things like that! Now anything could come out and possess you!”

A creak in the floorboards was enough to put her on edge. She could feel the hairs stand up on the back of her neck.

“Wh-who’s there?”

A dark shadow loomed over her. Her phone was barely light enough to see the creature that stalked toward her.

“I mean it! Come out right now!”

First, there was silence.

Then, something pounced.

“No!” She screamed, throwing her arms in front to shield her face. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean--”

_ “Meow?” _

Marinette blinked, peering from behind her arms. Staring up at her with beady, bright-green eyes, a cat sat in front of her. It cocked its head to the side in confusion.

She put a hand over her chest, and sighed deeply in relief. “It… was just a cat.” She then blinked, before crouching down in front of it. “What’s a cat doing up here, anyway?” Marinette reached forward to tickle underneath its chin, and smiled when it nuzzled into her hand. 

“Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter. Want to help me look for something, kitty?” 

The cat waved it’s long, sleek tail as a response.

“No, I’m not too sure what I want to find.” Marinette chuckled, before standing up and brushing the dust off of her jean-shorts. She couldn’t resist a little grin as the cat sneezed and wiggled its nose. “But I’m sure it’ll… be something… good.” Her eyes went downcast. “I’m hoping, anyway.”

And look for that metaphorical special “something”, she did. The concept of time escaped Marinette as she spent longer in the attic. With the photo albums littering the floor (many of the scattered pictures being of Tom Dupain in his prime), Marinette could almost feel his presence beside her.

She had just dropped another picture onto the wooden floor, as she leaned back, and sighed. “I’m never going to find anything in here.” It was then a soft paw tapped on her kneecap. “Hm? What is it, kitty?”

The cat’s teeth had hooked around her sock, trying to force her to sit up. Marinette chuckled at its unusually humanlike insistence, but followed it on anyway.

“What…?”

She slowly walked toward where the cat lead, toward the large vanity at the end of the attic. Marinette eyed the cat suspiciously. “We’ve already looked around here, kitty. It’s empty.”

It wasn’t taking her answer at face-value. The cat crouched down, sticking its butt up in the air, and padded behind the vanity. Marinette leaned down to try and peer at what it was grabbing.

Behind the vanity, near the middle of the wall, a small hole had been hidden from the rest of the naked eye. Marinette backed away when the small cat backed out, dragging with it a tiny wooden box. It then sat next to it, peering up at her expectantly.

“Is this a music box?” She rattled it a little, hearing little more than a small  _ clink.  _ “Is it empty?” 

For a few fruitless moments, Marinette tried to prise open the box with her hands. After finding it not budging, she opted for an alternative. As she felt around the box, something about the shape becoming alarmingly familiar to her.

Marinette frowned. “...It doesn’t open the usual way.” Lightning flashed in her mind, with a solution present. “Wait, it could be like those old puzzle boxes Papa and Mama used to have!”

She remembered sitting on her Papa’s knee, out in the night air. They, along with her mother, would be parked at the side of a road out in the country. She would be poking her tongue out as she tried to solve the puzzle, and would grow flustered over her parents chuckling at her stubbornness. 

Now there were no parents, and a teenaged girl even more stubborn to not let them laugh. They had never taught her to solve it. She had to figure this out on her own.

The box itself wasn’t anything special. The lid and the bottom slightly protruded out, and the front insignia was broken up into four smaller rectangles, delicately carved. There were hinges on the back, but no obvious lock. She felt around the edges, before pausing.

“I wonder if…?” She felt along the bottom, before pushing the protruding part out slightly to the left. A jolt of excitement coursed through her veins as it slid with the pressure of her thumb. “Yes!”

Hidden within the side of the box, she pulled out a looser piece of wood stashed within the bottom left of the box. The small flint, much to her growing exhilaration, stashed a tiny silver key. She held it up to her eyes, before glancing back at the cat.

“It  _ does  _ have a key. But the real question is… where is the lock?”

She glanced back into the open compartment, and saw the inner-mechanism of the box. Marinette looked in closer, and noticed the main part of the box could be slid forward. She did so, and grinned when she heard a “click”. One of the five-panels of the insignia at the front had dropped off, revealing the lock.

Marinette wasted no time in unlocking the box to take a gander inside. As she opened the lid, however, she almost dropped the box.

Inside, on a small cushion, was a stone. A beautiful red, with spots of black, and it almost seemed to  _ glow  _ like a dying ember. Carefully, she plucked it from the box, and held it in her palm. It was warm to the touch. 

Looking at it closer, however, she noticed something. “It’s got a crack in the centre…” She held it up to the moonlight. The crack extended from the middle, almost down to the other side. “Looks like it was dropped… or something. But why was it hidden down there? Did this belong to Papa? What do you think, kitty--?”

But when Marinette looked up, the spot where the odd little creature had been sat was empty. She stood up and looked around, clutching the stone to her chest. 

“Kitty?”

No answer. She slowly glanced back toward the stone, eyeing it up. Outside, the winter winds raged on, batting against the aging roof of the bakery.

Marinette, however, paid it no heed. She became transfixed on the glowing stone in her hand. It was so warm, it almost felt  _ alive. _

“Did it just want me to find you…?”

* * *

**"So that's why we can only choose those who want to use that luck to help others."**

* * *

Marinette looked at the desk in the attic, and placed the stone next to the large vanity mirror. Next to them, lay the empty cast of a pair of sterling-silver earrings. She sat down next to it, in the flickering candlelight, and grabbed the tiny chisel from the toolbox she had found next to the photo albums. 

How many hours she had been hunched up in that small attic, she had no idea. One hour, perhaps even longer than that. At one point, she had managed to completely fall asleep, only to find a small blanket tossed over her shoulders when she woke up hours later.

She grabbed the stone, and magnified it with the looking glass she kept tucked in her upper pocket. Sketches of the design littered the floor next to her.

Marinette sighed, as she positioned the chisel.

"You wanted to be a fashion designer for Mama and Papa. Every project needs a risky start." A small smile crept onto her face, despite her nerves. "I... hope this goes well." 

 


End file.
